


i am never without it (anywhere i go you go)

by coricomile



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: They've been in Nova Scotia for four days, hiding out in Sid's house, eating too much fish and spending too much time lazing on the couch. Eventually, they're going to have to leave- Geno's spent his time in Canada, it's Sid's turn to finally really see Russia- but for right now they've got nothing to do and nowhere to go, and Sid likes that thought. Right now, they don't belong to anybody but themselves.





	i am never without it (anywhere i go you go)

The lake is so quiet. There's the constant hum of insects and the soft rustle of breeze, but outside of that there's nothing. Sidney closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The air is salty and damp, the day still too new to be humid. Pittsburgh has become home, but the lake, this tiny place in his hometown, is a haven. There is nothing but water and the occasional tug on his line and the gentle sway of the boat under his feet. 

And Geno. 

Geno's sprawled out in his chair, fishing pole between his spread thighs, sunglasses pushed up to the top of his head. He's still got his shirt on, the seventy-one decal in the center half flaked off from wear and tear, but Sid knows it'll come off as soon as the sun comes up properly. Geno makes a noise when his pole twitches, sitting up and checking the tension of the line. 

And this- this is perfect. 

They've been in Nova Scotia for four days, hiding out in Sid's house, eating too much fish and spending too much time lazing on the couch. Eventually, they're going to have to leave- Geno's spent his time in Canada, it's Sid's turn to finally really see Russia- but for right now they've got nothing to do and nowhere to go, and Sid likes that thought. Right now, they don't belong to anybody but themselves. 

Geno reels in a bass, reaching out to grab the squirming fish around the tail. Sid pops the lid to the bucket with the water, his own catch already swimming around in the bottom, but Geno unhooks the bass and throws it back into the lake, wiping his slimy hands off on the towel that's somehow gotten lodged under his ass. 

"Too small," Geno says when Sid looks at him. Sid raises an eyebrow and Geno grins at him. He figures they've got one more meal of fish before Geno revolts entirely. 

The sun rises slowly, warming the water and turning the sky pink and orange. Sid leans back against Geno's side to watch, arms folded over his chest, feet propped on the edge of the deck. He's seen the sunrise in Pittsburgh, in Europe and Russia and a slew of American cities, seen it from inside airplanes and standing under the watchful eyes of historical landmarks across the globe. But Canada is the most beautiful place on earth. All these years later, it still steals his breath away. 

"We go back?" Geno asks, his arm curling around Sid's waist. His fingers leave smears of dirt from the bait can over Sid's shorts, but Sid can't find that he minds. Geno yawns into Sid's shoulder, his arm tightening a little around Sid's stomach as he sits up to pop his back. It would be easy to make an old joke, but Sid is enjoying this little bit of quiet, this little bit of time just for the two of them that's soft. "Taylor come home today. I think she make plan for lunch."

"She plans on raiding the cupboards and taking whatever she can stuff into her backpack," Sid corrects. She's done it every time Sid's been back long enough to actually stock the kitchen, squirreling away his treats like he isn't going to notice. He's mostly just started to buy more of the stuff she usually takes. It's not like he can't afford it. 

"If you cook nice fish for her, maybe she leave you maple candies," Geno says. Sid doesn't bother with that one. Taylor knows all of his hiding places. She's like a bloodhound. If he's lucky, he'll get to take one of the six boxes of the candies he bought back to Pittsburgh with him, and even then he's going to have to split it with Geno. 

Geno breaks away long enough to re-bait his hook and cast, tucking his pole into one of the holders bolted onto the hull. He likes deep-sea fishing more than lake or pond fishing, hates ice fishing with a passion usually reserved for the Flyers, and refuses to de-bone anything himself. It's such a dumb list of trivial information Sid has stored up, but he likes knowing how Geno's head works. Each new fact is another little piece to the mystery. 

He watches Geno strip out of his shirt, catching it when Geno tosses it over. He tucks into into the mostly empty duffle bag at his feet and digs the sunscreen out. It reeks like coconut, which isn't really a great combination with the inherently fishy smell of the lake, but it's a nice excuse to get Geno between his thighs, making small, satisfied noises as Sid rubs some over his shoulders and down his back. 

Sid burns basically right away every summer and eventually builds up to a tan. Geno, though, can and does spend all day outside, his skin turned summer brown everywhere except where his trunks cover. Sid thinks, if given enough privacy, Geno would probably spend the whole summer naked on a deck somewhere. It's a nice picture. Not practical in any way, but nice to think about. 

"When we go for Moscow, I take you to banya," Geno says, tilting his head forward to let Sid get at the back of his neck at the tips of his ears. "Maybe be enough to get fish stink off." 

"You're having the time of your life," Sid says, pushing at Geno's hip with his sandal. It leaves a little dirt on his trunks, but it's not like they're going back to the house clean anyway. 

"Is not bad," Geno says, turning around and presenting his chest with a smug, self-satisfied grin. He's such a dick, so cocky in a way Sid can't even pretend to be, and Sid loves every last bit of it. He squeezes cold sunblock between Geno's pecs and laughs at the sound Geno makes. "I lie. This worst vacation."

"Let me finish this and then you can go catch a fish," Sid says, putting his hand flat over Geno's chest and rubbing the sunblock in. It leaves Geno's skin shiny, the fresh daylight turning him golden. Sid wants to take a picture, but he doesn't want to get greasy sunblock on the screen of his phone. They've got time. He can always get one later. "We can beer batter them if you figure out a way to keep Taylor out of the pantry." 

Geno narrows his eyes, visibly trying to figure out the catch. There isn't one- even Sid gets sick of grilling, no matter what Tanger says- and Taylor likes seeing Geno maybe more than she likes seeing Sid, which Sid thinks is wholly unfair. Geno isn't the who stayed up until two AM on a game day listening to her cry about her shitty ex-boyfriend. To be fair, Geno had stolen Skylar's phone number and left him a voicemail that was very, very threatening. Sid still doesn't necessarily approve, but he's happy with the results anyway. 

When the sunblock is as rubbed in as it's going to get, Sid leans in and brushes a kiss over the corner of Geno's mouth. He smells strongly of coconuts and sunshine, so very different from the coldness that comes with their usual time together. It's different, but it's good. Geno's still the same no matter the setting. 

"I distract," Geno finally says, heading back towards his chair and pole. When he sits down, his knees sprawl open wide, his bare feet pressed together. He looks like an overgrown child, all the way down to the petulant look he gives his fishing rod. "You owe me poutine."

"Poutine is gross," Sid says, just like he has every time Geno's brought it up, but he knows they're going to end up getting it at least once in the next week. 

They spend another hour out on the lake. Geno dozes more than he fishes and Sid stays mostly under the cover of the big beach umbrella Taylor had set up the last time she'd visited. His skin feels a little tender, but he doesn't think he's burnt. The mosquitoes have definitely come out, though, and Sid's stomach is starting to grumble. They've got enough fish for lunch, and if Sid sets Geno and Taylor to making potato salad, they should have all their bases covered. 

Sid steers the boat back to the dock carefully, enjoying the last of the pre-afternoon sun. He ties the boat down and unloads the bucket with the fish before gently shaking Geno awake. Geno blinks up at him, eyes hazy and soft, and Sid's chest feels too small to hold everything he's currently feeling. 

"Fish?" Geno asks. His accent is always at its thickest when he's been sleeping, but Sid's spent over a decade listening to it. He doesn't really need to hear the words to know what Geno's saying. 

"You lucked out, lazy," Sid says. "So you get to scale."

"Worst vacation," Geno mumbles. He yawns and lets Sid pull him up, ungainly as he steps over the edge of the boat and onto the dock. He grabs the bucket and heads towards the backyard, leaving Sid to gather up the rest of the stuff on the boat. 

After Sid's put everything away, he wanders through the kitchen to check that Geno's actually scaling the fish instead of finishing up his nap. Geno's stood over the rough plywood table Sid had set up under one of the trees, the bright white cords of his headphones trailing all the way down to his pocket, his biceps bunching and flexing as he goes over the back of one of the fish. Sid watches him for a moment, letting the air conditioning dry his sweat. He wants to go out there and wrap his arms around Geno's waist, wants to press up against him and just feel him, solid and present and there, but Taylor will be here soon, and Sid's got worm dirt under his nails. 

Sid scrubs his hands down in the sink and trades his nasty clothes for another pair of shorts and a new t-shirt. He'll shower after he's taken care of the bones. If he's lucky, he'll have enough time to drag Geno in there with him. He probably won't be- Taylor's even more fickle about being on time than he is- but hope springs eternal. 

Sid's just finished pulling out the ingredients for the potato salad when the back door bangs open. Geno deposits the fish on the counter, shedding loose scales all across the floor. He presses an absent kiss to Sid's temple on his way to the sink, eyes distant as he listens to whatever's playing on his phone. When his hands are clean he pulls his earbuds out and leans back against the counter. 

"When Taylor get here?" He asks. Sid glances at the oven and then down at the fish. There definitely isn't time to get the bones out and take a shower- not the kind of shower he's looking for anyway. 

"About an hour," Sid says. Geno grins, his eyebrows lifting and his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth. It's the same look he's given Sid for years, but it never gets old. "Put the fish in the fridge." 

"Make me do all work," Geno says, even as he grabs tupperware down from the cabinet. They've only been in Canada for four days, but he already knows where Sid keeps everything. It's inconsequential- it's not like the setup here is much different from his house in Pittsburgh, which Geno practically lives in- but Sid can't help the way he lights up inside seeing Geno blending into this place so seamlessly. 

"If you stop complaining, I'll make it up to you," Sid says. He waits until Geno's closed the refrigerator door to push him up against it. Geno's skin is hot and the smell of salt and sweat and sun has overpowered the sunblock. 

They've got Cup parties and family parties and a whole host of clubs in Russia to go to in the near future, but for right now, Sid just wants to stay in his quiet kitchen, feeling Geno's chest rising and falling against his. Geno smooths a hand over Sid's hair, his palm cradling the back of Sid's head, and kisses Sid's forehead. 

"Sister here soon," Geno says. "Come. We shower and start lunch, okay?"

"Yeah, alright." Sid kisses him again because he can, because he wants to and it feels like they've got all the time in the world. "Let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason, all I want to do is write about Sid and Geno being disgustingly domestic and in love. This probably says something about me, but I don't really care. Profit from this. 
> 
> Feel free to come hang out on [tumblr](http://notyourlovesong.tumblr.com).


End file.
